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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 47
- 48
- 49
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"
Chapter Forty-Seven: Part II
“Some Enchanted Evening: Part II”

Disclaimer: Oh, that I could make money from writing this fic, and make a living by borrowing Rowling's characters for profit. Alas! I cannot. These characters are hers alone, and I cannot lay claim to them, nor make any money from this fic that uses them. Woe is me! Maybe in my next life I'll hit the literary jackpot.

A/N: This chapter is so large, I need to post in two parts. Here is the second half.

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Strolling along a broad aisle towards a pair of large French doors, Hermione looked up and spied Viktor sitting along the edge of a balcony railing to what must have been a private dining area above the main dining area. In the dim light, she saw that the large mirrors placed along the right side of the restaurant were actually the privacy screens that hid away private dining rooms on a third level. Counting the number of mirrored screens, there must have been five private rooms or one large room. Before she passed under the balcony upon which Viktor watched her, the Bulgarian wizard gave her a small smile.

Hermione and Ron entered a private garden for the restaurant patrons to enjoy. The fresh air felt good, making Hermione realize how warm the room was with all those people inside dancing and enjoying themselves.

Though the moon had not risen yet, the garden flowers caught the light spilling out from the upper balcony where the private dining rooms were, and the summer starlight. Moonflowers, flowering tobacco, and bushes full of blooming gardenia perfumed the garden, their white flowers catching what little light there was. There was a low hedge of white miniature roses guiding evening strollers towards a white columned gazebo covered in Jasminum polyanthum. As much as Hermione found the scent of jasmine pleasant, the overwhelming, cloying scent of all the flowers mixed together was a bit much to her, but she did not complain.

Walking hand-in-hand, Hermione let Ron guide her to a railing with granite balusters. In the weak light, she could make out Ron's pale and freckled face gazing down upon her. Unable to stand her husband's scrutiny, Hermione turned her attention back to the garden laid out before them.

“Lovely garden,” Hermione remarked a little nervously.

“Have you been having a good time tonight, Hermione?”

Turning her attention back to her husband, she could see the uncertainty in his face.

“Oh... yes!” 'God, I hope that didn't sound too forced.' “Everything has just been lovely.” 'You already used that adjective, silly girl.'

How could Hermione tell her husband that despite his attempts to be amicable and the perfect gentleman, the vast improvement in his dancing, his mature behavior when interacting with her old boyfriend, Viktor, and the charming atmosphere, it was not enough. It seemed like icing on a rotten, moldy cake.

Ron leaned closer to her. “Good,” he whispered in reply before bending down to capture Hermione's lips in a kiss.

Hermione craned her neck up to kiss him back fully, trying to put all the passion Severus evoked in her into her kiss. She felt one of Ron's arms snake around her waist, the other to her neck, and he deepened the kiss.

'A perfect romantic setting and it is still not enough. Why do I feel nothing?' Hermione mused to herself. 'Why am I thinking instead of being lost in this kiss? How is it that I can think so clearly now, though I can't when Severus is near me?'

Going through the usual routine, she stroked Ron's tongue with her own with the calm collection she would have used when picking out produce at the farmers' market, and found it to be a predictable task with no anticipation.

'Should I run my fingers through his hair? Maybe I shouldn't, it would only muss it up, and it does look nice. I can't believe I'm planning on how to continue kissing Ron. Why is it that I can think so clearly, and whenever I'm this close to Severus, my mind shuts down and my body knows what to do?'

Instead of running her fingers through Ron's hair, Hermione stroked his arm with one hand and ran the other along his back.

The stars did not shine and twinkle merrily down from above on the two figures kissing, but flickered in cold and aloof indifference.

They both ended the kiss and pulled away to gaze at each other in the starlight.

'Nothing. I feel absolutely no passion towards him,' Hermione thought while staring up at the man who almost appeared like a stranger to her in the dark and intimate night.

When all was said and done, deep down inside, Hermione had always known it would be like this. All the trappings of dinner and dancing were not going to “magically” reignite the flame between her and Ron, when no flame had existed in the first place.

Ron sighed, and Hermione was not sure if it was one of pleasure, contentment, disappointment, or resignation that an evening of romance was not going to salvage their marriage.

'I wish it was Severus here with me, instead of Ron.'

It seemed that Hermione wished Severus was in her life the way that Ron was now. But all those years ago, Severus and Hermione would never have been able to find any middle ground to find anything even remotely attractive about the other. And now it had come to this. Hermione loved Severus with a sort of soul-possessing compulsion that constantly drove her back to his side, despite the fact that her mind screamed that it was wrong and that she was destroying everything she had held sacred as a girl.

But Hermione was not a girl anymore, and she now saw the world through adult eyes, knowing that fallibility is a flaw that makes even the most powerful witch or wizard human in the end. Was it Hermione's youthful arrogance that had made her shameful of her conviction years ago, trying to convince herself that marrying Ron was the right decision when in reality it was a coward's solution to avoid spinsterhood? Was it that she had finally decided that there was nothing in her heart to keep her faithful to Ron any longer? It was cold and possibly heartless, but Hermione could not look upon Ron with any fondness other than that of an old friend with whom she shared a history.

Hermione had wanted to become lovers with Severus for what seemed like an eternity now, and she had held back on moral principle. And now that every avenue to save her marriage had been exhausted, it shocked Hermione to discover she did not feel guilt knowing that she was not in love with her own husband, but was deeply so with another man.

The muffled melody of the orchestra drifted out to the farthest reaches of the garden. It was a slow song, but to Hermione it seemed like a funeral dirge for her marriage, which seemed to have died with that kiss.

Ron kept hold of Hermione's hand as they began wandering around the rest of the garden, admiring the enchanted topiaries and various gurgling fountains placed around the terrace. Unlike the other couples, the intimate niches and benches did not inspire the Weasleys to kiss. They passed them by without much interest in utilizing them, the sound of the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they slowly ambled along in silence.

After making a complete loop of the grounds, they migrated back inside the restaurant to their table where they found dessert menus ready for them.

Looking at the menu, Hermione was in the mood for a slice of Severus' plum tart tatin or one of his uncomplicated offerings of fruit, dates, and nuts, but it appeared there was nothing as simple as that on the menu.

'Chocolate gateau made with cocoa beans from a remote Colombian mountain, topped with extra heavy sweetened cream, whipped with the feather of an Abraxan, and drizzled with puree of sickle pear mixed with brandy caramel sauce. Ginger and peach Napoleon joined with a rhubarb compote and Madagascar vanilla sauce. Roulade filled with hazelnut butter crème, vanilla custard, and espresso meringue.'

Ron seemed to be debating between the chocolate gateau and the pumpkin tiramisu.

Hermione felt that if she had something as heavy and complex as one of those desserts, she certainly would be too stuffed to dance. Severus certainly knew how to choose a menu, picking light desserts to counter the heaviness of the meal. The night Severus had made her cassoulet, he served up strawberries lightly marinated in an orange Muscat with crème fraîche. It was elegant in its simplicity.

Severus had provided many evenings with dinner, dancing, and wonderful conversation. The only thing lacking was the rich ambiance, but Hermione could not care less that she dined in the middle of a slightly worn-down flat in the middle of someone's bedroom-great room. None of it mattered at all. Sitting across from Ron, Hermione knew now that none of the trappings of a fancy restaurant with full orchestra and everyone dressed for high society could replace the warmth of Severus' presence, his wit, intelligence, hours upon hours of conversation that she did not want to end, and moments of provocative sensuality that made her head spin.

If Hermione had to pick between this night at the Grand Royal Supper Club with Ron, and another evening with Severus, she would choose the latter without hesitation.

At the bottom of the dessert menu, Hermione finally saw something that caught her interest.

“Chocolate ga-too,” Ron said aloud.

“Summer fruits with selection of flavored shortbreads,” Hermione said.

“Why not get something really fancy?” Ron asked, bewildered why his wife would forgo something as elaborate as the four-chocolate truffle pyramid gilded with Egyptian gold.

How could Hermione explain to someone — who never seemed to eat slow enough to enjoy savouring the subtle flavors of a meal — that it wasn't about gorging one's self on the most expensive or the most difficult to create dishes, but that which would balance the meal and please the palate.

“It's what I'm in the mood for right now,” Hermione explained.

“Your loss,” Ron quipped.

Though Ron's remark was not an insult, it rankled Hermione.

After dessert, Hermione suggested more dancing. As they moved to and fro on the dance floor, Hermione looked up and asked, “Is that a new cologne you're wearing?” She had noticed it earlier, but only mentioned it in dire need of a topic of conversation.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

Hermione wasn't sure. Leaning in, she tilted her face up and nuzzled her nose against Ron's neck. Normally when she did this to Severus, it took all of her formidable will not to spend the rest of the night nuzzling his neck, but with Ron, there was no desire to keep her nose there longer than necessary.

'Definitely lemons and citrus, musk... green woody scents, like grass... and the smell of the ocean, aquatic...'

“It's nice,” she admitted. It didn't make her head swim like Severus' cologne did, but it was pleasant.

“It's called Haunt. I got some recently; I was waiting until tonight to try it out for you,” he told her.

“It suits you.” Hermione began to wonder how the same cologne could smell so differently on two different men, but decided that when she saw Severus on Monday, she could ask him then.

The song ended, and the band immediately went into an upbeat swing tune. Ron was better at swing dancing than doing the foxtrot, as there was a lot more leeway with that style and space between the partners. Hermione began enjoying herself, for a short while not trying to push thoughts of Severus out of her head, and was temporarily lost in the moment.

Ron spun her under his arm and said quickly, “Ready for a dip?”

Before Hermione could give any reply, Ron held her tight and dipped her back. Remembering all the lessons she’d had with Severus, Hermione finally let herself trust Ron and did not fight it. Ron did a pretty good job of dipping her and bringing her upright.

“Oh, your comb fell out,” Ron commented, noticing a few of Hermione's curls askew.

They stopped dancing for a moment while they looked down at the floor, searching for the lost comb.

“There it is,” Ron said, and took a step forward and to the side.

Hermione still hadn't spotted the comb, and tried to move out of the way for Ron when she heard and felt the crack of tortoise shell under her shoe. Lifting her foot, Mrs. Weasley saw the shattered comb and crushed roses on the floor.

“Allow me,” Ron said, as he cast a quick Reparo on the comb.

The hair accessory was fixed, but the roses could not be salvaged. Flowers are a living thing, and thus unable to be restored by the simple charm.

They decided it was time to stop and have a little refreshment. Sitting at the table, Hermione stared at the mutilated flowers. Somehow the fact that flowers that symbolize love were ruined seemed to be an apt summation of Hermione's assessment of her marriage. To Hermione, it wasn't so much that the roses were destroyed, but that it felt like the final omen of the night.

As they sat back down, Ron poured the bottle of champagne only to notice that it was empty.

“Shall we order more drinks?” Ron asked.

'Maybe alcohol will make this night a little more fun. Couldn't hurt.' “Sure, why not?”

The wine list suddenly reappeared on the table.

“I really don't feel like wine. Do you, Ron?”

“Not really. I was thinking of a glass of Firewhisky.”

Hermione had rarely drank mixed drinks in the wizarding world, as most functions she went to where hard liquor was served usually ended up with Fred or George playing bartender. Some unsuspecting witch or wizard would wind up being turned into a platypus, or suddenly shrunken down to the size of a large brownie while wearing a little girl's blue dress, a pinafore, and a blond wig. They dubbed the latter libation “Drink Me.”

Looking at the back of the wine list, Hermione found the mixed drink section. She didn't want to drink a fruity concoction served with seven layers of fruit on the rim, an enchanted plastic monkey holding a cherry (and which would probably eat it before Hermione got the chance to), a little paper parasol, and topped with whipped cream. Instead, she reviewed the list of wizarding-style martinis. She once had a martini at her parents' home and actually discovered she liked it, but never kept the ingredients for the drink in her own home. Considering her luck when alcohol, desperation, and depression mixed, it was probably for the best. However, tonight was going rather good considering the fact that Hermione had come to terms with the fact that her marriage was now officially over. If she could never be in love with Ron, what was the point in staying married to him?

“I think I'll have the Blue Fairy Martini,” Hermione said. A far from traditional martini glass with silver and gold fairies intertwined around the stem of the glass appeared before her. In the glass was a bluish liquid containing Siberian vodka, a quarter-shot of Fairy Brandy, a misting of vermouth, a splash of blueberry liqueur, and passion fruit juice. It was presented with a bluebell flame sitting atop the surface of the drink that one was supposed to extinguish before the alcohol ignited, resulting in a small explosion.

“Double Firewhisky, neat.” Ron picked up his drink that materialized in front of him, and raised it in a toast. “Slainte mhath.”

She extinguished the flame and raised her glass as well. 'Here's to the death of our marriage.' “Cheers.”

If the martini had boasted a full shot of Fairy Brandy, Hermione would have never attempted to order it, having sworn off from ever drinking that much of it ever again, but a little dribble of it into her drink probably wouldn't be so bad. Besides, she had rarely felt so relaxed and euphoric as when she was under the spell of that particular libation. As it was, a quarter-shot was enough so that Hermione could feel quite relaxed without fearing she was going to be doing something worthy of plastering on the cover of the Daily Prophet once more.

Just as Hermione was about to take a second sip of her cocktail, she spotted Viktor gazing down at her from his viewpoint on the balcony of his private dining room. He raised a glass in silent salute, and Hermione returned the gesture, feeling a little flirtatious. Ron could have seen her at that moment, and she wouldn't have cared.

With each sip, Hermione felt more relaxed and a little less inhibited. By the time she drained her glass, Hermione was feeling not just confident and carefree, but horny as hell.

'I'll have to investigate the effects of passion fruit juice mixed with Fairy Brandy, and see if that's why I feel so damn turned on,' she thought.

Looking across the table, Hermione stared at her husband.

'He's not bad looking when he cleans up. Some nice clothes, a new haircut, and some manners; he's not that bad, I suppose.'

'Wait, what are you going on about?' Hermione began to internally debate with herself. 'You may be loosened up, but you are certainly not that drunk.'

'Lighten up. You want to go home tonight and not get shagged? Besides, maybe that supplement has done something for his stamina.' Her eyes raked over Ron's form, appreciating the way his robes flattered his now slightly muscular physique. 'Not having a good tumble on your anniversary is like not having sex on your birthday or Christmas morning. Besides, you are married to him. Why not?'

There were a hundred reasons why she should not aim for sex that night, including: any lip service Ron might give to it being good would be a lie and she would know it, she would still probably wind up sexually frustrated after Ron would leave her unsatisfied, and her ego still smarted after Ron's parting remarks the other night.

Her brain continued with its persuasive remarks. 'You can either go home, shag and be only mostly sexually frustrated; or go home, not shag, and you can both be totally frustrated.'

It seemed at the moment that a bad shag was the better of the two choices.

'Well, just don't sit there. Turn on the charm!'

It was bizarre, but Hermione suddenly realized that she had never really openly flirted with Ron. There were moments when they were first dating where there was a stolen glance or secret smile between them, but never anything provocative.

Shifting in her seat, Hermione slipped her foot out of her shoe and reached under the table. At first she found the cold metal leg of the table, but eventually she found Ron's ankle. Watching Ron, she began to graze her toes along the top of his foot and stuck her toe up the cuff of his trousers. Her toes made circles along his ankle.

Ron looked utterly puzzled, wondering what the hell was under the table nudging his foot. He peeked under the table and saw Hermione's foot, and it dawned on him what she was doing. Looking at his wife, he stared at her with bewilderment.

Hermione winked.

“Have you got something in your eye?” Ron asked.

'Oh, bloody hell! How much simpler can I make this?' Hermione wondered.

“Let's dance some more,” she suggested with a smile, hoping a few well-placed non-verbal cues would clue Ron in that she was feeling amorous.

Ron escorted her to the floor, and they began to dance. Hermione leaned her head against his chest.

“You know, Hermione,” Ron said carefully. “You shouldn't drink Fairy Brandy. You don't seem quite yourself, especially that time a few weeks ago.”

Hermione wanted to say, “How the hell would you know what I'm like?” but had to admit that she was acting quite a bit bolder than usual. She merely dismissed Ron's comment by replying, “It's only a quarter-shot, just a smidgen.”

She moved her hand up from Ron's shoulder to the back of his neck, and began stroking the skin there. With Ron's neatly trimmed hair, there was none to play with at the base of his neck like there was with Severus.

The orchestra began playing a tango, and they moved across the floor. She certainly felt more relaxed without being clumsy, but whereas Severus could guide her about the floor with ease, Ron seemed to have trouble with the steps. Halfway though the song, Ron practically gave up.

In order to diffuse a potentially explosive situation if Ron's mood soured, Hermione stood up on her toes and kissed Ron to distract him. Even feeling this aroused, there was no heat between them. Each stroke of her tongue against his was without inspiration and was done out of rote.

Hermione pulled away and saw the distant look in Ron's eye, as if he also recognized the lack of passion between them.

The band transitioned into playing a slow song. Husband and wife moved to and fro, lost in their own thoughts.

“Mr. Weasley?” The host came up to the Weasleys on the dance floor, looking eagerly to the wizard. “Mr. Weasley! I'm sorry to disturb you, but there is an urgent Floo call for you. Come with me, please. In my office,” he directed them.

Hermione and Ron exchanged worried glances, hoping that it was nothing tragic, especially concerning family. The older wizard walked them to a private door and into a well-appointed room.

In the middle of the fireplace hovered a familiar face.

“Rogina!” Ron said with a start, kneeling down in front of the hearth. “What's wrong?”

“Oh, Ron, I am so very sorry, but I didn't know who else to contact. I need you to come over to the pub now. We’ve had a wizard's brawl here, and both Rufus and Pete got hit with some very nasty curses,” Rogina began to explain. “I need an extra pair of hands to clear out the wizards still hexing each other, and the rest of the customers. Then I need you to close up the pub while I go to St. Mungo's.”

“Are Rufus and Pete all right?” Hermione asked with worry.

“I don't know. That's why I need to get over to St. Mungo's right now. I'm hoping that they have a Pensieve to use so we can figure out what curses they were both hit with. It all happened so fast, I can't recall who got hit with what.” Rogina's face showed her apprehension over her husband’s and Pete's health.

“I know it's your anniversary, and I hate to do this, but Ron, can you come over and help us this once?” Rogina asked, almost pleadingly.

Hermione and Ron exchanged glances. It was obvious that the evening was just dragging on for both of them, trying to find ways to entertain themselves without calling it a night too soon.

Tilting her head to the side and pursing her lips, Hermione could see that Ron felt an obligation to go help his old boss. “Go, Ron. There will be other dinners out and anniversaries. She needs your help.”

Ron nodded his head somberly, not so much in agreement but acknowledging that there was no rekindling of romance between them, and that the night was not all what either had expected it to be.

Turning back to the head hovering in the fireplace, Ron said, “All right. Give me a minute. I'll be right there.”

“Oh, thank you, Ron!” Rogina turned her head and yelled over her shoulder, “Oi! You get away from there.”

The flames went out, leaving the fireplace dark and cold once more.

Ron stood to bid his wife goodbye. “I don't know how long I'll be. Why don't you stay here and enjoy yourself. I'll see you at home later.”

“Should I wait up for you?” She moved her hands up the planes of Ron's chest, eventually latching her hands around his neck, hoping she was giving him a seductively coy look. Hermione was still in the mood for sex, even if it wasn't going to be all that good. Mediocre sex was better than no sex, in her current state of mind.

Looking at her with reservation, Ron replied, “Don't bother.”

Hermione's eyes darted to see how close the host was standing to them before whispering, “It's no bother. I thought that tonight... since it's our anniversary...” She let the sentence trail off, leaving what was unsaid to imply the rest of her suggestion. Hermione raised her eyes to Ron in hope that he might need release as much as she did.

“I wouldn't want to take advantage of you while you’re under the influence of Fairy Brandy,” Ron told her coldly. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Wouldn't want you to think in the morning that I was extracting payment for dinner tonight.”

Hermione's arms slipped away from her husband, and she recoiled from him as if he was made out of ice. “You'd better go. Rogina needs you,” she said, trying to not let her scorn come through in her tone.

Memories of Ron's remarks the previous night came back to haunt her, and Hermione held back the tears brought on by the sting of her husband's rejection.

'At least I know of one man who wants me,' she thought bitterly.

Ron reached up on the mantle and grabbed a footed plique-a-jour bowl holding Floo powder. “The Listing Broom!” he called out and disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Hermione stood there feeling abandoned. She had told him to go, and she knew it was the right thing to do. The fact that she hoped Rogina would get to St. Mungo's quickly for Rufus and Pete did not stop the sinking feeling of rejection she had in her chest.

While walking back to the table alone in order to sit and gather her thoughts, Mrs. Weasley was accosted by a vaguely familiar face.

“Hermione?”

Whipping around to see who called out her name, she saw him.

'Oh God, what is his name? Think!'

It suddenly came to her. “Alan?”

The handsome wizard that Hermione rebuffed the night she went to see "Merlin and Morgana: The Lost Years" approached her, his smile widening with the pleasure that the lovely witch remembered his name.

“I knew I would see you around, but I had no idea I would meet you here.” Alan reached for Hermione's hand and gently grasped it before she had a chance to extend her hand in a more business-like manner. “You are looking quite spectacular. I doubt any witch could even hold a candle to you tonight, even Lady Battenberg.”

Mrs. Weasley doubted that statement, as she had glimpsed Lady Battenberg as she came out of her carriage right behind Hermione and Ron. The strawberry blond witch was regularly in the top three list of the most beautiful and elegant witches in Witch Weekly since she came of age six years ago. Lady Battenberg and Hermione were both the same age, but the former had not attended Hogwarts, instead being taught magic by private tutors to reduce her public exposure to the wizarding and Muggle worlds.

“Are you here tonight with anyone?” Alan asked, his eyes raking along Hermione's body. “Oh, that's right. You left quickly saying you had to go home to your husband. Is he here tonight?” He craned his neck looking around for any wizard who might approach him with an angry look in his eye.

'The Fates really have it in for me tonight. First Rogina's Floo call and now this.'

It wasn't just those two things, but a growing list of a lot of small things. With the exception of Ron's parting remarks, he had created a wonderful evening for Hermione to enjoy, which she didn't. Between the omen with her broken comb, coming across Viktor, having to fend off Bascom Nettleton, and the definitive proof that there was never any passion between her and Ron, it was certainly amounting up to one of the most anti-climactic nights. At this rate, it was going to trump her wedding night in terms of disappointments.

“Actually, you just missed him. He had an emergency that required his immediate attention,” she explained, removing her hand from his grasp and taking a step back to get a little more space between her and Alan.

Alan smirked, as if he had caught her in a lie. “Really, how unfortunate for him that he was unable to stay with his beautiful wife. You don't think he would mind at all – since he's not even here – if I were to ask you for a dance?”

Hermione's mouth opened as she tried to think of a gracious way to politely decline without being rude. One thing she had learned was that the wizarding world was a small world, and everybody knew everyone. It was best to be diplomatic in even the most uneasy situations. Before she could form the words to say that she was actually a bit tired and was thinking about going home, Alan grabbed her hand and tucked it into his arm.

“Then that's settled,” he stated with a smile that set alarm bells off in Hermione's head, even though she was still riding her Fairy Brandy-induced high.

Hermione looked about, hopeful to see another familiar face who might be able to help her from this situation that seemed to be escaping her control. Unfortunately, Mr. Nettleton was nowhere to be seen, most probably fondling his date in some dark corner.

Alan led Hermione out onto the dance floor and then grabbed her a little too tightly about the waist. As they danced the foxtrot, Hermione tried to get a little distance between their bodies, but Alan kept holding her close to his. It was like dancing with a repulsive eel with the grip of a boa constrictor.

Alan's looks began to appear less than handsome the longer she was in his company. He kept pushing the boundaries of decorum in public by not getting the hint that Hermione was definitely not interested in him. Soon, Hermione did not see a handsome wizard, but a man with lustful cruelty in his eyes.

“May I cut in?” came a familiar thick accent from behind the apprehensive witch.

Hermione turned her head and spotted Viktor standing ramrod straight, slightly towering over Alan and looking as if he would not allow his request to be denied.

The only other face that would be more welcome at that moment would be Severus', but right now she would take a Bulgarian knight in shining armor to save her from Alan's clutches.

“Viktor! I was looking for you when Alan here abducted me,” the brunette witch said lightly, though she meant every word of her so-called jest.

Alan was not about to confront a more imposing wizard in such a situation, and graciously let go of Hermione and bowed to her. “Thank you for the dance, Hermione. Pity your husband wasn't here to cut in instead.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but she decided to ignore Alan. She immediately put her hand on Viktor's shoulder and her other hand into his waiting one. They moved back and forth until they danced away from Alan, who stalked off as if he had not lost the battle.

“Oh, thank Merlin you showed up, Viktor,” Hermione sighed with relief and a worried smile.

“You looked like you needed saving. Who vas that?” the tall, dark wizard asked.

“I went to the Three Broomsticks after seeing a play once, and he picked up on me there. Ron wasn't with me, and I told him I had to go home to my husband.” Hermione conveniently left out the little detail that she flirted with him a little bit that first night they had met. “Ron got an emergency Floo call and had to go just now. As I came out of the office, that wizard came up to me and thought somehow that I was still interested. It seemed he didn't believe that Ron was with me earlier, or that I'm actually married. He was getting rather fresh, and you couldn't have come along at a better time. I don't know how to thank you.”

“As I haff said before, vhat are friends for?”

Hermione wanted to rest her head against Viktor's chest as a sign of gratitude, and to express her weariness, but refrained, not wanting to give Viktor the wrong message.

“Perhaps you should go home, if you vish to avoid being accosted by other men. Especially Mr. Nettleton,” he added with a raised brow.

“You noticed that too?”

“How could I not?” Viktor replied with a shrug as he escorted Hermione from the floor. “You could stay and join me in my private dining room. I am here vith a few friends.”

“No, I think I will call it a night.” It couldn't have been any later than nine-thirty, far too early to call it a night if she had been at Severus' place, but the evening had seemed like it had gone on forever.

They reached the top of the stairs and the host gave Viktor Hermione's cloak, which he helped put on her.

“Let me valk you out to your carriage,” Viktor offered.

“That would be lovely.”

“So tell me. Vhat vas this emergency that called Ron avay?” the Bulgarian Seeker asked.

“How about I write to you and tell you everything that happened?” she offered in return.

Viktor smiled. “Yes, that would be a good reason for you to write to me.”

They exited through the door and walked along the awning-covered walk to the carriages.

Suddenly there was a flash of a camera's light bulb to their right.

“Hermione! Why are you leaving the Grand Royal Supper Club with your old lover, Viktor Krum? Did you and your husband have a fight tonight?” Rita Skeeter asked, firing one question after another.

Hermione merely smiled, knowing that if she rolled her eyes or glared, that a photo would be taken of her doing just that, and it would wind up being plastered in the middle of some scandalous gossip column accusing her of leaving Ron for Viktor.

“Let me handle this,” Krum said sotto voce.

Once they reached Skeeter, Krum and Mrs. Weasley stopped.

“Actually, Rita, Ron vas called away on an emergency, and I vas escorting Mrs. Veasley to her carriage. I have guests inside that are vaiting for me. I vill keep this short, so listen closely.” Viktor leaned in, and Rita looked on eagerly. “Print exactly vat I haff said and I vill guarantee you an exclusive first interview vith me ven I make a very important announcement later this year. Understood?” He gave her a rather pointed look.

Hermione could have used her own threat of revealing to the Ministry that Rita Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, but that détente tactic had worn thin over the years. To date, Skeeter had kept her nose out of the Weasley family's business, but Hermione and Ron's appearance that night had seemed rather promising for some fresh yellow journalism.

Skeeter nodded and winked, non-verbally agreeing to the terms.

The carriage arrived, and Viktor provided his hand to support Hermione as she entered into the coach.

Leaning out of the window, Hermione smiled down at Viktor. “Thank you once again.” She kept it short and vague, knowing that Rita was eavesdropping.

“You haff a good night, and tell Ron to owl me for the name of my agent,” Viktor said, waving to Hermione as the carriage began to trundle away.

“I will,” she replied before sticking her head back in the coach, wondering how bumpy the landing would be when they arrived in Diagon Alley.

The gryffons trotted slowly as they pulled away from the restaurant, and then began to gain speed. As their feet left the ground, the gryffons and carriage became invisible once more.

The moon had still not risen yet, and so Hermione had nothing but the lights from country villages lighting her a real path home.

Hermione had the solitude and quiet to properly reflect on the night. 'I should have slept with Severus weeks ago. Why I waited is beyond me now.'

She knew why she had waited. If she hadn't, she knew she would have wondered, “What if, what if,” time and time again, making her eventually regret not waiting in the first place. Now she knew for certain that if she was ever going to experience anything even remotely fervid and thrilling, she would have to seek it outside of her marriage. Hermione could not face growing old and living an exceptionally long life if it was to be as dull and flavorless as the plain porridge Ron had taken to eating for his breakfasts lately. She wanted to die having something to remember that might still make her cheeks burn with remembrance in her advanced years.

Hermione was still a bit indignant over the way Ron had dismissed her sexual advances. It seemed that for all of Ron's proclamation that he wanted to romance her properly, he was just going through the motions during the night. Deep down inside, she knew he felt as unenthusiastic as she did as they danced, dined, and kissed. And now she was going home to an empty bed on her anniversary with no prospect of any sex. It had been weeks since Hermione and Ron coupled last, but to Hermione it seemed longer.

As the brightness of the city lights began to light the night sky, Hermione glanced out the coach windows. They were approaching London and soon the night would come to an end, culminating in Hermione slipping on a comfortable cotton nightgown and not into Ron's arms.

The descent was a bit steeper, due to the fact that they were flying over rooftops before the carriage managed to squeeze into a small open square along Diagon Alley, using the same magic the Knight Bus used to finagle into tight spaces.

There was no one to help Hermione down from the carriage, so she clutched onto the hand rail as she stepped onto the cobblestones right in front of her block of flats. No sooner had the coach door behind her shut than the gryffons leapt back into the air, presumably going back to their livery or mews.

Looking up at the building, she still couldn't believe the night was already over. It was only ten o'clock, and her coach had turned back into a pumpkin far too early.

'I wish Severus could have seen me tonight.' She sighed. Hermione truly did not want to go home just yet. 'Severus wouldn't have refused me, unlike Ron.'

Instead of heading into her block of flats, Hermione turned and began walking along a familiar path.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The day couldn't get much worse than it already had been. Severus paced within his flat, feeling trapped, incensed at the indignity of another surprise inspection.

He was so very close to a solution for making the temporary hair dye rinse out completely with one washing, instead of the four additional shampooings it took to rid his hair of the film that was left behind. Just when inspiration hit, Dheef had come running into his office ranting about Aurors on their way, and that Marf was slowing them up until Master Severus and Master Draco could get back home safely.

Draco, who worked in the office across from Severus', heard the commotion and joined Severus in a flight down, the Potions master appearing to be like his derogatory nickname, “the bat.” They flew down the stairs, two and three at a time, their feet barely touching the steps as they went, leaping over banisters to hasten their descent. Were there witnesses, the pair would have been observed as nothing more than a flurry of cloak and wind.

There were several twisting narrow passageways between Lovely Lavender headquarters and the Red Ginseng. They took the one least likely to be traveled by Aurors.

They had just made it into their flat as the Aurors entered the building. To Severus' benefit, Marf had made sure all Potions books had been taken back to his office at his real work. Additionally, Kingsley was in charge of the inspection, directing the junior Aurors, some of whom were on their first such “raid.” The tall black Auror was surprised to find Draco and Severus at home in the middle of the work day, but as they supposedly served as gigolos, this was where they conducted their business.

As an Auror, fresh from training, fumbled around in Severus' cupboards, accidentally breaking a large jar of tomatoes Severus had canned a few weeks ago, Severus had to stand by and watch, unable to do anything. The rookie Auror did not bother apologizing for his clumsiness, giving Severus a look that said that he was lucky that he didn't smash open every jar in order to search for illicit goods. Severus regarded the young Auror, and wondered if he had failed him at Potions a long time ago, while he still taught at Hogwarts.

Finally, after his kitchen, bathroom, and wardrobe had been overturned and checked, everyone left. Kingsley gave Severus a look of quick apology before leaving to go upstairs to inspect Blaise Zabini's flat.

Severus would have gone back to work, but Marf had appeared to tell him that the building was being watched.

So he was stuck there with nothing to do. He didn't dare have Marf bring a Potions book back home for fear that an Auror would suddenly appear at his door without warning, Apparating right to the spot. Draco joined him for dinner, but during most of the meal, they kept to themselves. The younger wizard had stopped asking Severus when he was going to talk to Hermione about Potions ingredients. Both were rather sullen over the inspection, lost in their own thoughts involving freedom and warmer climes. Most of all, Severus was distracted while trying to avoid the mental image of Hermione wrapped in Weasley's arms, dancing the night away and gaily laughing at her husband's insipid jokes.

Severus was ready to just give up and go to bed, hoping the coast was clear come morning time, when he heard a knock.

Knock-knock. Knock-knock.

At first he thought it was going to be a late night surprise inspection by an Auror, hoping the ex-Death Eater had got cozy thinking he was safe enough to bring his dark items out from hiding, but Aurors didn't knock so lightly upon his door.

“Hermione?” he whispered to himself.

He was sure it couldn't be, as she was supposed to be at the Grand Royal Supper Club with that brainless berk she had married; however, that was her signature knock. His stomach tightened with apprehension. Severus grabbed the first half-mask he could find and put it on before opening the door.

He gazed at her, unable to move. Before him stood a temptress, enchantress, sylph, siren, and seductress all rolled into one; she was his naiad, his obsession. Hermione was a vision in ruby red with her hair pulled up to cascade down the back of her head, looking like some goddess on a Grecian urn.

Without invitation, Hermione stepped into Severus' flat, and turned to see him still standing at the door staring at her.

'If I'm dreaming, may I never wake,' Severus prayed as he shut the door.

Before Severus could ask why she was here and not out to dinner for her anniversary, Hermione said, “I had to see you.”

If Severus was in control of his faculties, he would have offered to take her cloak. As it was, he was still too stunned by Hermione's sudden appearance to do much of anything. She looked even more lovely than his biggest dreams and wildest hopes. Never did he imagine her to look so breathtaking. She was already beautiful in his eyes, but now she looked like perfection.

Hermione was hoping Severus would speak, but he did nothing of the kind. In the silence that filled the air, she hoped that she would not be the one to carry the conversation as to her sudden appearance.

He finally found his voice and asked, “Why?”

It wasn't very eloquent, but he supposed that it was better than standing there like some damned fool gaping at her. At least if he could get Hermione talking, that would buy him some time to get his brain functioning again.

“I was at dinner tonight with my husband,” Hermione began, casting her eyes down. “Everything was perfect.”

Severus felt his heart begin to drop through his stomach in fear that Hermione would stop seeing him and go back to her husband.

She continued. “But despite it all, it wasn't perfect to me.”

Severus felt his heart lighten at these words. He began slowly walking towards Hermione, unaware that his legs were carrying him forward.

“We danced.” She paused. “We dined. Their cassoulet wasn't as good as yours. They used breadcrumbs.”

The nervous witch laughed lightly, but the raven-hared wizard could not laugh with her, too entranced by what Hermione was trying to say, his eyes drawn towards the few tendrils grazing the nape of her neck.

“We strolled out into this beautiful garden. It was so lovely.” Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed as if she was taking a bitter pill. “Ron and I kissed,” she whispered. She could almost feel the tears forming behind her eyes. “There was nothing.”

Severus almost let out a sigh of relief, but didn't, wanting to catch every word of which Hermione would say next.

“No passion, no fire. I have to admit to myself there was never any in the first place. I don't love him.” Hermione opened her eyes and saw that Severus was standing right in front of her by this point. 'I love you.'

Hermione took a steadying breath before forging ahead. “And now I need to know: is it that I have no passion in me at all...” She reached up and undid the clasp to her cloak, letting it drop to the floor to reveal her red dress underneath. “... or is it that I only feel passion with you?”

Severus gazed into Hermione's eyes, unable to look away. Somewhere in the depth of her eyes, he could see one more question begging to be asked.

“Will you kiss me? I need to know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and necessity.

His hands reached up and cupped her face. His eyes traveled over the tiny beauty mark she had near the tip of her chin, the slope of her nose, the shape of her eyes, the color of her cheek, drinking in every little detail he could, even the pattern in the irises of her eyes. He had wanted to kiss her for so long, and here she was asking him, but he did not know why he was holding back, any more than he could explain why she fascinated him.

“Please, kiss me,” she begged. “Kiss me... Severus.”

She called him by his name. The game was up. Hermione had finally acknowledged his true nature, and he was ready to let himself be seen for who he really was. Severus pulled off his mask and let it drop to the floor.

Hermione was able to see Severus fully for the first time in ages, and right now he looked strikingly handsome to her. Yes, it was love and lust coloring her perspective and no one else she knew would ever call him attractive, but that's what he was to her now, at this moment. How a face she had once found repulsive was now so beautiful in her eyes was a matter to think upon at another time.

She saw his eyes dart to her lips; her own eyes were automatically drawn to Severus', which were slightly parted.

In the moment before they kissed, Hermione found that she did not have the strength to keep her eyes open, so she let them fall shut, waiting for the moment when it would no longer be Severus' warm breath grazing her lips. The anticipation drew the moment out for her. She knew at that moment she had never wanted a kiss from Ron as badly as she did from Severus.

To him, she looked like an angel awaiting her fall from grace with a mortal's touch. Severus dipped his head, brushing his lips against Hermione so softly he wasn't sure if she would have felt it until he was rewarded with an audible sigh escaping from her. Urged on, he kissed her firmly.

Never had Hermione ever been so lost in the moment. All sense of time halted, gravity ceased to exist as she floated away in his arms, and the universe shrunk down to just the sensation of his body pressed close to hers.

It was everything Hermione had ever hoped for in a kiss and beyond anything she could ever comprehend before that moment. 'Ron knows nothing of passion if a kiss is supposed to be this wondrous. This is what a kiss is supposed to be like.' The sensation of his lips upon hers made all her cognitive functions almost completely stop, her body now ruling the domain of her limbs and mouth.

Severus pressed his lips harder to Hermione's, and was thrilled when she parted her mouth and her tongue stroked his lips, seeking entrance into his mouth. She tasted like manna, and her eager kisses seemed to feed his hungry soul, whetting his appetite to consume all of her.

Hermione's stomach twisted and turned, her heart pounded heavily in her chest, and she felt as if she could not breathe, lost in the delirious drowning sensation of Severus drinking her in. Her hands, which had found their way to his chest, moved up and wound their way into his locks. She grabbed fistfuls of hair in order to bring him closer to her, pressing her mouth harder to his. She kissed him feverishly and with abandon, demanding as much as he was taking from her. Thoughts that she had never kissed Ron back like this began seeping into Hermione's mind.

Pulling her closer was impossible, as Severus already had a death grip on her back and waist. If it was not for the fact that she was pressing herself just as urgently against him as he was against her, he would have thought he was crushing her. His hungry hands began roaming her hips and her back, finally sweeping a hand down and cupping her bottom.

Hermione gasped, and almost broke contact of their lips from the sensation of it.

The world could be ending, crashing down around them, and neither would have heard a thing except for the roar of each other's breath and the sound of their own blood pounding in their ears.

She began to whimper, a pleading whinge in the back of her throat with each sweep of Severus' tongue over her own. He tasted like something equally sweet and savory to her, nothing like Ron.

Driven by the sounds he elicited from her, Severus wanted to be inside of Hermione more than his own basic desire to breathe. His only need for the moment was to be buried deep inside of Hermione, and to hear her cries, calling out his name.

He began maneuvering Hermione towards his bed. Their feet stumbled, trying not to step on each other's toes or the hem of Hermione's dress, searching for a position where they would not have to release their grasp of one another and yet move towards someplace more comfortable to continue their current activities.

Hermione's back wound up being pressed against one of the bed posts, and she pulled Severus against her with all her might, her arms straining from the urge to bring him even closer.

Severus leaned in, pinning her against the wood and brought one hand down, trying to find the bottom of her dress. His other hand found Hermione's hair and began working on releasing her curls from their confinement. All the while, his eyes were closed as his mouth lapped at Hermione's tongue and devoured her lips.

Raking her nails up against his hairline, Hermione was rewarded with a deep growl from the back of his throat, and she began scratching all her nails all over his scalp, anything to have him continue making that noise. She felt his hand go lower, and instinctively, her leg began to slip up the outside of his, hooking around the back of his calf, gradually rising it until her calf was nestled along the back of his thigh just under his buttock, then gave a slight jerk to urge him to nestle his hips closer to hers. Her other foot wobbled in its heel, trying to maintain balance while in the middle of this acrobatic snogging.

Severus found the bottom of her dress. Reaching behind him, he stroke his hand up her calf, circled her knee a few times, which earned him a few more muffled enthusiastic moans, and up her thigh, relishing the feel of her silk stockings against his hands. Pressing his pelvis forward, he found the cradle of her hips and began to rock gently into her, keeping her pressed against the bedpost.

It was the combination of his hand on her thigh and the pressure of his erection against her that make Hermione tear her mouth again from his to gasp and groan loudly.

The sounds she was making were feeding Severus’ libido to a point where he was completely drunk on the moment. He moved his mouth lower to begin feasting on her neck, making Hermione moan and wail, making incoherent half words, mostly urging him on.

'I'll show Ron. I'll have sex tonight whether he's with me or not,' Hermione thought bitterly, wanting to hurt Ron for spurning her. 'I'll fuck a real man, and then I can honestly tell Ron what a lousy lay he is.' She began tightening her leg muscles matching the rhythm of Severus' slow thrusts against her, grinding himself against their layers of clothes. She couldn't wait to have her bare feet digging into his hips.

Severus' hand found Hermione's bottom again, this time under her dress, and grabbed greedily at the flesh, kneading and palming it.

Something in the back of Hermione's brain began to speak up, distracting her from fulling enjoying the moment. 'You shouldn't be doing this to spite Ron. Don't do this out of hate.'

More than anything, Hermione wanted her brain to shut up so she could enjoy the moment instead of thinking about doing the right thing. She had been doing the right thing for years, and now she just wanted a proper shag.

'The Fairy Brandy made you come here,' another part of her mind insisted.

Now the seeds of doubt had been sown, and those doubts kept on getting louder the longer she kissed Severus. She had wanted to kiss Severus for so long, but part of her knew that the only reason she came here to his flat tonight was to get laid and get a little vengeance in against her husband. Would it have been like this had she waited until Monday night, she did not know. But now she was beginning to suspect it really was the Fairy Brandy and her desire to hurt Ron that drove her here, instead of coming to Severus with a clear mind and a clear conscience.

'Don't ruin the first time you're with Severus by shagging him out of vengeance.'

Lost in the scent and taste of her skin, Severus didn't hear Hermione say, “No.” He was inching his hand towards her warm center, intent on sliding his fingers along her folds hidden under her silk knickers.

“No, Severus, I can't. Please stop.”

Her plea for him to stop finally reached his brain, and he pulled his mouth away from her collarbone to look at her through lust-hazed eyes. Her hair was down around her shoulders in a cascade of curls that would put Cliodna to shame.

“Can't what?” he asked, his breath coming in short pants. He didn't know to what she was referring, her statement a non sequitur to him.

“I can't do this.” She looked at him with apologetic eyes, hoping he could understand. “I...” Words failed her.

How could she explain that she has wanted Severus for so long, but at this very moment, could not do what she had wanted to do; that malevolence and vindictiveness drove her into his arms tonight, and not the love she felt for him? Hermione knew that if Ron hadn’t been so cold in his rejection of her, that she would not be where she was with Severus looking at her with growing confusion and hurt darkening his features.

“Not tonight.” That was the only coherent thing Hermione could say in a half-sob before wrenching herself from his arms and dashing out the door without her cloak.

On her way out of the building and back towards her home, Hermione did not notice the person hidden in the shadows, who had watched her arrive composed and depart in tears.

Confused as to what just happened, Severus sank to his knees. His fists clenched at empty air where Hermione was in his arms but moments before, and whispered, “My God, what have I done?”

============

~o0o~ END of ACT I ~o0o~

A/N: The curtain falls and the lights come up. The audience goes out to the lobby to sip champagne during intermission, and you flirt with the tall, dark stranger standing on the other side of the room. I highly recommend it, it's quite fun!
Actually, it's not so much end of Act I as end of Season I since this is more like a five season serialized story.

AquiliaSevera has done a lovely (and intense) illustration for me of Severus and Hermione just before their first kiss:
AquiliaSevera's DeviantArt page: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/26788529/
ATDLHEA Tumblr page: http://atdlhea-betz.tumblr.com/post/131949905585/fan-art-by-aquiliasevera-the-kiss-please
Please be sure to leave a nice review for her hard work. THANK YOU, dear!!!
If you didn't catch the “Alice In Wonderland” reference, the bottle marked “Drink Me” shrunk Alice.
Cliodna is the Irish/Scottish Celtic goddess of beauty. She is a Tuatha sea and Otherworld Goddess who often took the form of a sea bird and, as such, symbolized the Celtic afterlife. http://www.paralumun.com/celticgoddess.htm
Don't worry, the story is now going to really pick up. This is not the end, but the transition into the second act of this multi-act story. Actually, think of them more than seasons than acts. The story is set up, and next we will see what happens now that Severus is unmasked. Also, we’ll see what happens with all the dozen or so plot threads I have set up including: Will Hermione feel used when Severus lets her know that he needs her for the ingredients? Who is Lavender shagging? Is Ron cheating on Hermione? Will Moody discover Severus’ and Draco's day jobs? What is with the lemons from the cemetery? Will Draco and Severus escape, or be sent to Azkaban to rot? Will Hermione take the apprenticeship or the managerial position at Fred & George's new shop, or stay in her current job? Will Severus keep shagging other witches? Will Hermione or Ginny get pregnant? Will Hermione leave with Severus, Draco and Ginny? Will Hermione leave that sorry excuse of a husband? Will God strike Molly down for being an interfering pain-in-the-ass? As I've said many times before, patience. All in good time.
I want to thank all the betas who have helped me with this story so far: Horserider, Siren, JuneW, and GinnyW. I'd also like to thank okonchristy (cocoachristy) and GinnyW for being my sounding boards, as it helps to chat about certain plot points before committing them to computer. But most of all, thanks to all of you who have taken time to review, some of your reviews really make the effort worthwhile and make my little heart go pitter-pat.

B/N: Well, my heart’s going pitterpat now! Poor Snape…unmasked and thoroughly snogged, yet still standing there in rejection! I think right about now, Hermione needs a good spanking…course, I think that *all* the time, so you might not want to take that particular advice…;) ~Horserider
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After